


Vivid Realism

by sabinelagrande



Category: Taskmaster (UK TV) RPF
Genre: Biting, Bondage, Dom/sub, Drunk Sex, F/M, Food Sex, M/M, Multi, Orgy, Painplay, Pegging, Pony Play, Porn Parody, Porn Watching, Praise Kink, Shared Ownership, Size Kink, Unrealistic Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Voyeurism, and they don't even eat ass, realistic sex, sexual denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27363157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: A thing that is inevitable: every media property with a following on the internet will eventually give rise to a porn parody.
Relationships: Alex Horne/Rachel Horne, Greg Davies/Alex Horne, Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67





	Vivid Realism

**Author's Note:**

> For reasons, I started referring to Jeremy from Taskmaster NZ (who is not in this story, spoiler, though TM NZ is quite good) as Porn Parody Taskmaster, and then... this.
> 
> If you think about the meta issues posed by this fic's premise and its very existence in light of that premise, the top of your head _will_ blow off, so just go with it.

"I'm not gonna leave you alone until you watch it," Rhod says, without prelude.

"Watch what?" Greg slurs, into the telephone he has somehow gotten into the vicinity of his face.

"You know what," Rhod says. Greg doesn't respond quickly enough, and Rhod makes an indignant noise. "I sent you _four_ text messages."

Greg sits up; upon checking, he has fourteen text messages from Rhod. "I've been asleep for-" He glances at the clock. "Longer than I should have been. You've only just woken me up."

"Oh," Rhod says. "So you don't have the first clue what I'm talking about."

"I so often don't," Greg says.

"It's all over everywhere," Rhod says accusingly.

"It was not on the backs of my eyelids," Greg replies. "Please explain yourself."

Rhod explains.

It is not at all a thing Greg was expecting to hear.

"You're gonna watch it," Rhod says, not an accusation, but a statement of fact.

"Yeah," Greg admits. "I have to know."

"I know," Rhod says. "I sent you links."

And so it is that Greg is sitting in front of his laptop, about to start a video that, thank god, someone on Reddit put on Google Drive, rather than him having to brave whatever viruses would come with it. He was absolutely not going to pay money for this, and quite frankly, he shouldn't have to.

Because the video is, God help them all, the porn parody of Taskmaster, and if anyone should see it for free, it's Greg.

Greg's not confident he's ever watched a porn parody before. He doesn't really get the point; porn is for watching sex. Sometimes it's nice if there's a little story in it, but it's not mandatory, and the space that these things occupy where it's people fucking but you're not actually supposed to wank to it unironically just hurts his head.

He starts the video anyway, and is shocked to find that they've actually made an attempt at doing the opening credits. They are mostly shots of people mid-coitus, but they've set it to a song that is clearly supposed to sound like the opening theme; there's been a misguided attempt to make it sound sexy, which just doesn't work. But a man's hand stamps a wax seal, and they're off to the races.

The set looks like- well, it looks like what someone would have built as a studio for Hometasking, except that in that case it would have been charming and sweet. It looks entirely like it might be someone's garage, though they have put down red carpeting, chosen some appropriate chairs, and slapped a big TM on the wall, though they have wisely put it in a square.

The camera tracks in, showing the Taskmaster for the first time.

"Jesus Christ," Greg says aloud.

Greg had honestly expected the casting of the Taskmaster proper to follow the way of gay porn, since he is informed that this is a bisexual production; he was expecting some kind of bear, potentially a muscle daddy, either way someone likely close to Greg's own age, and almost certainly signficantly more hairy than him. That is the logical equivalent to someone like him, in pornographic terms.

Instead they have opted for a much younger, much more chiseled man, who reminds Greg of certain teachers of his acquaintance. The guy is wearing a white wig, the kind you would pay about thirty pounds for but no more, and it has not been styled with any degree of care. It occurs to Greg suddenly that it doesn't look like him, the original Taskmaster; it looks like Jeremy, the Taskmaster from New Zealand.

Only he's a professional, and presumably knows how to put on a wig.

"Hello, and welcome to Taskmaster," the Taskmaster says, in a British accent that is both fake and too posh. The accent work is really the least thing Greg has to worry about, but he does note it. He's aware this was an American production, which doesn't surprise him as much as it could, so he was expecting it.

The Taskmaster is doing his intro, which mostly sounds like a regular intro but with slightly more sexual innuendo. He's very smirky, in a way that Greg finds unpleasant; Greg also wonders if _he's_ that smirky, which is concerning. He feels like he hits smug more often than smirk, honestly, though they are so similar.

The Taskmaster proceeds to introduce the contestants, as is the custom. The first contestant is, quite transparently, Ed Gamble, and he actually looks a lot like Ed. He doesn't have the same sort of sharp features, but, while Greg does very dearly love Ed, it just doesn't take much to look like him. It's being helped that he's wearing the denim situation Ed wore on the show, and by the fact that Rhys James has never appeared on Taskmaster.

For half a moment, the next contestant throws Greg, because it's obviously supposed to be Rose, not that anyone looks quite like Rose, including this person. It's just that she doesn't go there in the name order, and since they've called Ed "Evan" it doesn't make sense.

Oh. Her name is Freesia now. Right. That's awful, and it tracks.

Third one's Noel. Not even sure why they've changed his name. It couldn't be anyone else in the world. Somehow he looks more like Noel than Noel looks; sometimes Noel wears a nice sweater and some eyeliner and calls it a day, but this guy is Dressed Like Noel. He is of course not as good at it, but Greg gets the sense that nobody in this production is going to be.

Greg doesn't want the person in the fourth chair to be who it is, but of course it fucking is, why else would "Rhys"- again, not Rhys James- have called him about this stupid fucking thing if he hadn't been in it. Not-Rhod is- and Greg hates everything that is leading him to this assessment- just not as hot as Rhod. Rhod's not Greg's type, but he is quite attractive, and this guy is a little bit generic, though more buff.

If a Rhod analogue is in here, this is going to go some places.

The last contestant is genuinely only recognizable by her attire. She has that just-finished-leading-a-ballet-class-now-off-to-a-fundraiser look that Sally has perfected; Sally has a way of looking like money and looking like sex at the same time that Greg just really appreciates. This woman is dressed the same way and blonde, but also twenty years too young. It really is a waste.

That he's worried about the aesthetic value and likeness of the actors playing knockoff versions of people he knows in real life that he is about to watch in all sorts of compromising positions, well, that's just a thing Greg chooses not to examine about himself.

"And next to me, as always," the Taskmaster says, giving the man in the next chair a look like he's going to eat him alive, "my subservient boy who's only good for scoreboards and sucking cock, my little Assistant."

Well, that doesn't sound far off something Greg would say, to be honest.

The Assistant, as Greg is perfectly content for him to remain named, is just utterly unremarkable. He is a human male. He is an average build. He is not particularly prepossessing, nor is he unattractive. He's not even ginger, for fuck's sake. There has been no attempt made here at verisimilitude, and it bothers Greg more than he is entirely comfortable with.

"Thank you, Taskmaster," the Assistant says, looking abashed.

The Taskmaster looks him up and down again, then turns back to the camera. Greg's a little confused, because it seemed like that was definitely an opening; guess not, because the Taskmaster continues along.

"Tonight, we're going to see each of our contestants at their very best," the Taskmaster says. "Who's first?"

"We'll start off with a very special cuddle," the Assistant says, then "starts the playback" in a way equally as fake as the way Alex does it.

The Assistant is standing in what is meant to be the Lab; it actually looks almost identical to the Lab, because the Lab is just a room with plastic sheeting and bright lighting. "Sylvia", who manages to look more like a porn star than the rest of them, somehow, swans in, looking at the Assistant in a way that is warm and sly. 

Greg pictured the whole premise for this video differently, that it was going to be a pornographic Taskmaster episode, but apparently this is Taskmaster's porniest hits. He has no idea how he feels about that.

But he remembers how it was that Sally decided to cuddle Alex; handfuls of cake were involved, and possibly some lettuce? It was mostly the first time that Sally showed she was a completely feral creature who could not be anticipated. This seems like an easy thing to make into pornography, really. You just sort of do the same thing, but without any clothes on.

This is not unlike what happens. Sylvia rips the Assistant's shirt open, the buttons popping; he has your average hairless chest and flat stomach, which is a bit boring. The whole thing is a bit boring, actually. The original was weird and interesting; this mostly amounts to licking food off of the Assistant. It's fine, but it lacks something.

Sylvia moves down his body, yanking his fly open and tugging his trousers and pants down. Greg suddenly understands why this entirely nebbish and unremarkable gentleman is in the adult film industry, because he has just a monster of a cock.

It is itself worth examination, but the scene doesn't get any better. Sylvia applies various sweet substances to the cock and licks them off. Greg cringes when she goes to ride him, but thank God, they're using a condom; no one needs that much sugar in that location.

They fuck and that's sort of it, and Greg wonders how much of this he's going to end up skimming. It goes back to the "studio", where there's a little bit of back and forth between Sylvia and the Taskmaster, who are trying to out-eyefuck each other. But the Taskmaster turns away, looking at the Assistant.

"I think we have at least one hungry boy here," the Taskmaster says, and now certainly there's going to be some action.

"Good thing, because I have a snack," the Assistant says, and it cuts to the next task.

This is the scene with "Nash"; Greg thinks they missed a trick by not calling him Neil, but that's immaterial. It's the exotic sandwich, and Greg realizes what he is probably about to see. He can't say the idea is exactly pleasant, but they're here.

What made it unappealing on the show was a number of things, but part of it was the deplorable quality of the striptease. The dancing here is more exotic, which is, all things considered, good; the Assistant is a much better dancer and actually making an effort. The Assistant is also revealed to have the bread where you would want bread to go in a sandwich striptease, sort of a bready loincloth that ties around his middle. It does absolutely no good at keeping his unwieldy cock contained, but this was going to end in a big ole dick anyway.

The striptease ends and Nash is handed the second half of the task. Instead of protesting, he gives the Assistant a cocky grin and slides to his knees in front of him.

He eats some of the bread, for the presentation of the thing, then he sucks the Assistant off for a while; it looks good, it's perfectly unobjectionable cocksucking, but Greg is still waiting for things to Go There. He figures he'll have some warning in which he can evaluate his life and whether he wants to go there as well, but then the Assistant is coming and the scene ends.

No one actually eats anyone, and while Greg wasn't looking forward to watching any sort of that variety of eating, he feels weirdly cheated. Noel even made a joke on the show about eating Alex, and this is a literal porno. If there's anywhere where ass is supposed to get eaten, it is here.

What a wasted opportunity.

There's more business in the studio. It's not very interesting, and the Taskmaster still doesn't fuck anyone. Greg really doesn't know what he's going to do when the Taskmaster ends up taking his clothes off. It's invariably going to happen, and the thought of it hurts his head a bit. He's just going to have to ride it out, and if he has to turn it off, he turns it off.

There's more bullshit dialogue and they throw to, everyone brace for impact, Rhys's task.

It is frankly astounding how little they have to change of Excite Alex.

Only a few things about the build-up are really different. The camera lingers on how Rhys is tying the Assistant- who is of course naked, not that that's much of a difference- to the chair, which he is doing much more skillfully than in the original. Instead of the business with the egg that they had to cut out, Rhys puts him in a proper ballgag, which Greg really thinks they should have done on the day. The only other difference is that Rhys is saying things to him, ones that very much would not have made it to air.

"Look at you, you little slut," Rhys says, grabbing the Assistant by the throat. "I'm going to use you up, then send you back to the Taskmaster full of my come."

Greg's eyebrows go up, because it is the first legitimately hot thing anyone has said this entire time. It helps that it's not in a Welsh accent; not that Greg finds Welsh accents objectionable, but it makes it not sound like Rhod, and that's fine.

As it turns out, Rhys does not choose to pour coffee all over Alex; it's a painplay scene. This is acceptable, though Greg just can't shake the feeling that it is ultimately not what Rhod would do. He doesn't want to know how he knows that, but what's happening isn't particularly humiliating. Maybe that's what's been wrong this whole time; Taskmaster is a show about humiliation that some people find erotic, and this misses that step somehow, is "Taskmaster, but make it sexual" without the reason that a certain kind of audience thinks the show is arousing.

That this is the hottest scene and it still misses the mark is really indicative of the whole problem with this endeavor.

On screen, Rhys fucks the Assistant's face with the kind of vigor that's hot unless you think about it too much, which is decently sexy. The climax of the scene definitely doesn't involve coffee being splashed on anyone; instead, the Assistant has his head tipped back, mouth open, while Rhys shoots a very impressive amount of come over his face. Greg thinks they must have edited it so someone else could run in and help out, because he's frosted the poor bastard like a cake.

"I think we've learned a lot more about you than we have about me," Rhys says, only this time it's a darkly sexual threat, which works well, all things considered. The camera lingers on the Assistant, in a way that is remarkably similar to the actual broadcast, only with way more come.

That was a significant step up in quality, but Greg is two thirds of the way through this whole thing. It doesn't seem like enough time for two more contestants and, presumably, the studio task. Greg is pretty sure how this is going to go, because Evan and Freesia have been making eyes at each other the whole time. Which is ridiculous considering how much their real world counterparts were at each other's throats, but it is porn.

And indeed, it's time for the team task; Ed and Rose weren't a two-man team, but Greg's willing to roll with it. This appears to be the one where they had to recreate a board game.

"Oh no," Greg says, because he's just remembered what the real version was.

But, oh yes, Evan's done up like a horse, though interestingly, he's currently got all his clothes on. He's in what is probably supposed to be the garden of the Taskmaster House, in that he is on a mat on some grass in front of a brick wall. Freesia comes over, cowboy hat and all, and puts a hand on his head.

"Do you really wanna buck, or do you wanna play nice?" Freesia says, and it hurts Greg's head that she doesn't sound like a Kiwi. Evan doesn't sound like any sort of nationality, because he just neighs emphatically.

Freesia unzips her trousers and pulls out a bright pink, fantastically large dick.

The ridiculousness of it makes Greg laugh in surprise, but he's the only one laughing. Freesia slaps it against Evan's face, and he doesn't pull away from it; instead he gets his lips around the head, letting her feed it into his mouth.

After her cock is nice and wet, she yanks his jeans down and absolutely fucks the holy hell out of him; Greg is frankly shocked that he can take that whole damn thing, but he certainly does. There's a hung like a horse joke to be made in here somewhere, though, as he recalls, Buckaroo was actually about a mule, but Greg is really just impressed.

The Assistant isn't properly in his scene, which is odd. He's standing there with his clipboard, making notes as Evan brays and moans, but he's looking at the two of them like it's a bit boring. It makes Greg feel weirdly sorry for the Assistant. What has your life come to, when two attractive people going at it like wild animals, almost literally, is a bit commonplace? Is this a commentary on the pornographic endeavor as a whole?

Either way, both horse and rider come to a very noisy climax, and the Assistant blows his whistle.

And then it's back to the studio again, and soon enough, the Taskmaster is gesturing broadly and announcing, "Would you please head to the stage for the final task of the show!"

As Greg absolutely expected, the final task is an orgy.

That's not exactly true. After some rules that essentially detail a blowjob competition, Rhys and Evan grab the Assistant and cuff him to a St. Andrew's cross. Greg thinks they truly wasted a possibility by not strapping him to a big Taskmaster logo, then deeply questions his life choices.

The point is that having just the one target makes it a gangbang, not an orgy. Greg never thought he could be actively bored watching a gangbang, but maybe he's just getting fuck fatigue. They're all taking it in turns to see how much of the Assistant's cock they can take down; Freesia gets extremely close, but then Nash outdoes her by getting the whole thing in, which is a legitimate accomplishment given just how much of it there is. 

Nash has at this point clearly won, but the situation continues. Freesia and Sylvia make out for a while just to tick that box, then they hook up with Evan and Nash while Rhys fucks the Assistant within an inch of his life.

The Taskmaster is literally just sitting there.

He's not jerking off or providing encouragement or anything you might logically do when you're spectating a gangbang/orgy. He's sitting there like a bump on a log while all of this is happening, and Greg finds it completely infuriating.

Anyway, they all get off and return to their seats. The Assistant announces that the winner is Nash, which is a miscarriage of justice; clearly it should have been Freesia, for her skill at both strap-ons and deepthroating, which displays real range. Nash didn't even eat ass. Disgraceful.

"So what have we learned today?" the Taskmaster says into the camera. He says more stuff but the dialogue is still the worst part; also the Assistant is getting up, and Greg's more interested in where that's going. The Assistant walks over and kneels between the Taskmaster's legs. The Taskmaster is still talking, but the Assistant is undoing his trousers and tugging them down.

This is a bit more fucking like it. It's taken this entire time, but finally the Taskmaster is going to get some action. Maybe this will pay off at last.

The Assistant is just about to get the Taskmaster's cock out, when the Taskmaster puts a hand on his chin, tilting it up to look him in the eye. He gives the Assistant a dirty grin, then looks back up to the camera.

"Goodnight," the Taskmaster says.

Then it cuts to black.

Then Greg's media player stops.

"What the fuck was that?!" Greg says, quite loudly.

He watched that entire goddamn thing, a parade of subpar pornography that constitutes time he will never get back, and his avatar didn't even get laid. Greg's not so egotistical that that's why he watched it; he watched it because Rhod was never going to leave him alone, but he had to go through all of it and then find out he didn't even rate sexual parody. It's complete _bullshit_.

"You finished it, did you?" Rhod says, after Greg angrily dials his number.

"You _knew_ ," Greg says.

Rhod, fuck him, laughs. "Wasn't even original," he says. "They ripped that off from the Avengers porno. Iron Man never gets fucked in that one."

Greg's going to ask how he knows that, but it's just some shit Rhod would have heard once somewhere and never forgotten. "You made me watch that whole fucking thing for no reason."

"How do you think I feel?" Rhod says. "I had to be English."

After he's done with Rhod, Greg tries to calm down and absolutely doesn't go on the internet. He gets a text from Ed that just says "??????????????????????" and ignores it, because Ed isn't the person who he actually wants to talk to about this.

Alex answers on the second ring. "'Lo," he says, in that voice that says he's trying to do the dad thing, and Greg, as always, feels guilty to have interrupted.

"Is this a bad time?" Greg asks. "Because I can call back-"

"No, I know what you called about," Alex says. "We should talk."

"Right," Greg says.

"Give me a moment," Alex says, and there's some shuffling around, the open and close of a door. "That'll hold them off for a little while, I think."

"So," Greg says, and he realizes he has no idea how to have this conversation. "You heard."

"Oh, I certainly heard," Alex says.

"Did you watch it?" Greg tries.

Alex sighs. "I don't watch porn-"

"Bullshit," Greg says reflexively.

"-at two in the afternoon when I have three small children," Alex continues.

"Oh," Greg, who lives alone and has lost all track of time today, says. "I suppose that would make it harder."

"Besides, I-" Alex says. "I am aware of what happens to 'me'-" Greg can hear the air quotes- "and I'm not certain I want to watch all of that."

"Who did you hear from?" Greg asks, because it's easier than dealing with how Alex sounds, small and defensive.

"Key," Alex says. "I think he's indignant that 'he's' not in it, and he chose to recap it for me."

"That is probably the worst way to hear about it," Greg says.

"I honestly think it might have been better to just watch it," Alex says.

"You absolutely did not miss anything," Greg says, from the bottom of his heart; he does not mention that there wasn't even any ass eating. A plan is forming in his mind. "D'you think Rachel would let me borrow you tonight?"

It's a calculated question. If Greg just asks Rachel, Alex is cut out of it. Right now, Greg wants to give him the choice; he can always say they have plans, or that she's not in the mood, or just that he wishes Greg wouldn't. "I think she probably would, though you'll have to ask her," Alex says, though he sounds faintly confused.

"Then I'll see you later," Greg says. "Wear something comfortable."

"Sweatsuit comfortable or old worn-in jeans comfortable?" Alex asks.

"I don't think you would be the least bit comfortable in a sweatsuit," Greg says.

"I've worn a sweatsuit," Alex says.

"By choice?" Greg says, and Alex doesn't respond. "That's what I thought. Tonight. Rachel will have the details."

Greg texts Rachel as soon as he rings off; he's not surprised when she's perfectly willing to turn Alex over. He always returns Alex in one piece, if a little bruised or bitten up, and by this point she trusts him to play with her things. She agrees to get him to Greg's by eight, and it's settled.

Greg has some ideas, but they don't actually take very long. He cleans up a bit, changes the sheets, finally eats something, mostly things to fill time and make his place look a bit nicer. He doesn't go into the chest he keeps on the far side of his bed, which Alex is likely to find surprising; if Greg needs its services later, he already knows where everything in it is.

Mostly. It's not a perfect system.

Alex arrives at five til eight, because of course he does. He is definitely not wearing a sweatsuit, which is better for everyone; he's opted for an oversized blue sweater and a pair of jeans that are clearly old, given how soft they look.

Greg leads him in and parks him on the sofa. He has no earthly idea why it feels awkward; he and Alex are a lot of things, but they haven't been awkward around each other for a very long time.

"It's really eating at you, isn't it," Greg says, despite the fact it reminds him of one of the biggest failures of the porn, because he just doesn't know what else to say. There isn't any other option; they're clearly not just going to have a good time and pretend there's nothing going on.

"It's fine," Alex says.

"You may be able to give that shit to anyone else, but you don't give it to me," Greg says sharply.

"In fairness, I also can't give it to Rachel," Alex says.

"That was never in doubt, and don't change the subject," Greg says.

Alex sighs angrily. "It got to me," he mutters, sounding annoyed in the way that other people are not allowed to know Alex gets, by Alex's choice.

"You care way less than I do about people writing sexual fiction about us," Greg says. All that stuff makes him feel odd, but mostly it makes him feel disappointing, like he can't rise to how people think of him. Admittedly, the porn Taskmaster didn't rise to anything, and that, he's perfectly capable of.

"I don't care if people write stories for each other about someone with my name," Alex says, frustrated. "I care very much that someone has monetized a thing I have spent years working on, that you're supposed to be able to watch with your kids, then put me in it and used me as a fucktoy." Greg recoils a bit at hearing him say it like that. "Now I'm going to have to pretend it's a little embarrassing but all in good fun, when I really want to sue the shit out of these people."

"I'm sorry that I watched it," Greg says, unsure what else to say.

"You're in it, do whatever you want," Alex says, in the manner of swatting a fly.

"Do you know why I wanted you to come over?" Greg asks.

"If it's about that fucking video, I'm calling red," Alex says.

"It's because you sounded so upset on the phone," Greg says. He wants to run his hand through Alex's hair, but Alex would move away. "I thought you could use a nice night where I plied you with wine and treated you well."

"Also because you've got blue balls from the video," Alex says, arching an eyebrow.

"I have brought you over on numerous occasions just because I had blue balls," Greg says. "I don't know why that should bother you now." He puts a hand on Alex's knee, and thankfully Alex doesn't jerk it away. "If you don't want to have sex, we don't have to. If you just want to leave, you can. No punishment."

Alex lets out a long sigh. "Actually, it sounds really nice."

"Good," Greg says, and he pulls Alex over to kiss him on the forehead. "Now, wine." He's been concealing the ice bucket, that, shockingly, he both owns and knew where to find, next to the couch, and he unceremoniously plonks it on the coffee table. "Your cheap Portuguese shit."

Alex looks delighted, pulling out the bottle of vinho verde and wiping it off. "Would you like some?" he says, loudly cracking open the top.

Greg is a full-grown man with a steady career and a BAFTA, and he has willingly bought Alex wine with a screwtop. It's not even wine for an event, where nobody's going to see the bottle so it doesn't matter; this is a special treat to show his approval and regard. The idea is ridiculous.

"Yeah, better give me half a glass," Greg says, because they've come this far.

Greg lets Alex get a glass of wine into him before pulling him close. More than anything, Greg wants to make him relax, smooth him out, soothe some of the sting that he's feeling. It's not that Rachel couldn't or won't, though she sometimes sends Alex to him because she just doesn't have the time to deal with him the way he needs to be dealt with.

Sometimes when it gets really hectic at their place, they both sneak out and come over. That's always a wild time.

But Rachel's not in this. She doesn't figure into Taskmaster; she's only been mentioned a few times, and in the porn version, she's not mentioned at all. Of course she loves Alex and knows he's distressed, but she wasn't affected by this in the same way. Greg also doesn't feel affected like Alex does, but he's in this now, he'll share in the fallout no matter his personal opinion.

Greg refills Alex's glass and puts it back in his hand. Alex likes it this way sometimes, being drunk while Greg is sober, so he feels even more out of control. It seems like just the thing to make him unwind, make him calm and pliant, so he'll take what he's given and enjoy it.

Greg moves them around, so that he can pull Alex against him. He kisses the back of Alex's neck, his hand slipping under his sweater; he's wearing an undershirt, and Greg runs his hands over the smooth, warm fabric. If he presses in a bit, he can feel Alex's hair through the thin material, somehow reassuring. He doesn't have the kind of body you see in porn, and, especially today, Greg really prefers it.

The vast majority of the wine is gone when Alex turns in his arms; Alex leans in and kisses him, gentle, warm, flavored slightly by the wine. Greg puts his arms around him, mostly so he won't fall off the couch but also to keep him close.

"How do you feel, boy?" Greg says, running a hand over his hair.

"Like I could melt," Alex says. Greg knows Alex could drink triple that amount and be upright, but that's not the point. Melting is really the state he wants Alex in, and anything else is superfluous. He kisses Greg again. "May I, sir?"

"You can do whatever you like," Greg says, and he helps Alex turn so he won't fall. The last thing he needs is Alex to crack his head on the coffee table; it would not at all be the kind of night he wants to have.

Alex sinks to his knees in front of Greg, undoing Greg's fly, and Greg pushes his clothing down, pulling his cock free. Alex doesn't try to make it look good, doesn't smack himself in the face with Greg's cock; instead he just leans forward and takes it into his mouth. He lets out the smallest sound of satisfaction, and it's better than nine hours of porn.

It's not meant to look hot or be entertaining; Alex is just sucking him because it feels good, because it makes Greg feel good. It has an honesty to it that their counterparts were entirely lacking, and it's so much better that it's not even the same thing.

One of the reasons he prefers it is that the Taskmaster got absolutely no sex at all, and Greg is already outstripping him on that score. He can't say he's not feeling a little smug about it.

"That's a good boy," Greg says, running his fingers through Alex's hair. "You're making me very happy." Alex doesn't pull off to respond, just gives a pleased hum, which is perfectly fine. Greg just lets him keep going, petting him and offering encouragements, thrusting shallowly into the warm heat of his mouth.

Greg could tip over right here, just come and come, but it will have been a wasted opportunity. He pushes Alex gently back; he has to do it again, a bit firmer, because the first time, Alex just catches his cock again, which is counterproductive.

"Unless you want me to come in your mouth right now, you have to stop," Greg says. Alex looks like he's trying to find the downside of this idea, so Greg adds, "If that's what you want, I can't fuck you."

"Oh," Alex says, frowning. "We can't have that."

Greg laughs. "Up you get," he says. "I'm taking you to bed."

"Yes, please," Alex says, getting to his feet.

Greg shepherds him into the bedroom, and the first thing he goes for is Alex's sweater. It's been tempting for how completely non-tempting it is, a big soft thing that hides Alex's form entirely. The jeans are similar, slightly oversized and held up with a belt, and underneath them Alex is wearing pink shorts with little frogs on them.

"You are ridiculous," Greg tells him, bending down and kissing him.

He finally gets Alex naked, and what he sees is absolutely nothing like porn. He's the same old Alex, hairy and just slightly potbellied, possessed of a perfectly acceptable cock but not an oversized one. Greg wants him so much it's ridiculous, so much more than he could possibly want a flavorless facsimile who was only chosen to fill a slot, literally.

He realizes suddenly that Alex is shying away a bit, and it's absolutely not what he wants. "I need you so fucking badly," Greg says, pulling him close and wrapping a hand around his cock. That's what's true; he could stay instead that Alex is hot or that he's better than porn or anything like this, but it wouldn't quite be right. Alex is better than porn, but that's because he's a vital, imperfect thing, something you could actually have and enjoy and keep and care for.

"Sir," Alex sighs. "Sir, please."

"Please what?" Greg says. "Because I suspect the answer is 'please fuck me.'"

"Yes," Alex says. "Yes, sir, please."

"You've lost it, haven't you," Greg says, in a fond way.

"Never had it," Alex says. "Not with you."

Greg laughs. "On the bed," he says, turning Alex loose. "I want you to show me exactly how you want it."

"Um," Alex says.

"Yes?" Greg says, giving him a look.

"One second," Alex says, indicating the bathroom.

Greg snorts. "You drank a whole bottle of wine, I think you can be excused."

Alex scurries away, and Greg shakes his head; they never do that one in porn, unless it's very specialized porn. He starts in on his shirt buttons, in no particular rush, and Alex is back before he's gotten his belt undone. Alex doesn't wait for repeated orders; he throws back the duvet and climbs into Greg's bed. Alex and Rachel bought it for Greg, actually, last Christmas, which was a hideous amount of money for them to spend on him and very touching. The result is that it's enormous, long enough that Greg fits on it entirely, even stretching his feet. 

It makes Alex look small, even though he's only small next to Greg. It helps the effect that he's curled up on his side, waiting for Greg to slip in behind him. It makes Greg feel fond, protective.

What he's about to do to Alex does not count as protection, really, but Alex will definitely enjoy it. Greg will see to that.

Greg finishes undressing, grabbing the lube from its spot before joining Alex on the bed. Greg does sometimes use him like a fucktoy, leaves him completely wrecked and laughs at him for taking it. But the thing is that Greg has permission; he doesn't always ask for it, as such, but that's the deal. Alex is his, something that isn't lessened by the fact that he's not just Greg's, and he wants Greg to do whatever he likes.

It just happens that tonight, what Greg wants to do is please him. Sometimes Alex lucks out.

He gets in behind Alex, right in close, grinding against Alex's ass. "So this is how you want it," he says, palming Alex's cock. "Nice and deep and slow."

"Oh god, yes," Alex says.

"Think I can manage that," Greg says. He pushes Alex's leg up, giving himself room to work. A thing that kind of bothers him about porn is how lube always seems to be understood, something that was previously handled and not worth mentioning. He opens the cap and pours a good amount onto his fingers. By the time he's done, Alex is going to be begging for it.

Greg, just in general, gets off on toying with Alex, and this isn't different. Alex takes his slick fingers easily, still relaxed, making soft sounds while Greg plays with him, opening him up but mostly teasing. His fingers graze over Alex's prostate, and Alex gasps. Greg does it again, and again, winding him up as much as possible.

"Sir," Alex pants. "Sir, please, I need you so badly."

"Looks like you already have me," Greg says, thrusting his fingers in, dragging them out. "If you're not more specific, I can't help you."

"Please fuck me," Alex says. The profanity sounds just as unnatural on his lips as it did earlier, but that doesn't make it any less attractive.

"That's not a bad idea at all," Greg says. He slides his fingers out, and Alex makes a noise of loss that Greg, feeling merciful, doesn't make fun of him for. Instead, he pours lube over his cock, just enough to make everything slick and easy. He caps the bottle and sets it aside, then he turns back to Alex. "Ready?"

"Please," Alex says, shifting his leg up higher, and just like that Greg is pushing into him. Greg is aware that he's well-endowed- he's six-eight, it would be a bit of a cruel joke if he weren't- but it's just a reason to be careful buying jeans until a moment like this. Alex's back arches as Greg slides inside of him, stretches him out, fills him up like nobody who didn't buy their dick on the internet has.

"Is that how you need it?" Greg says, and Alex nods quickly, too overcome to speak. He kisses Alex's hair, uninterested in forcing him to talk. "Good boy. Just take it for me."

Alex just sinks into it, moaning as Greg fucks him slowly. Greg likes that almost no one would recognize him like this; people think of him as quiet and amenable, but this is more than that. He's nothing but putty in Greg's hands, poured out over the bed as Greg rocks into him over and over again. Greg loves him like this, boneless, like all he's made to do is feel.

"That's a good boy," Greg says softly, his hand on Alex's waist. It's nothing like what anyone said to the Assistant, though Alex doesn't know that; Greg does, and he feels somehow like he needs to even the balance. "Taking it so well for me, just like you should. You make me very happy, do you know that?"

Alex doesn't say anything; Greg knows what he looks like when he's overcome. He just keeps fucking into him, wrapping his arm around Alex's chest to keep Alex pinned against him. He murmurs praise to him, things that are insignificant but make Alex sigh and press back into him.

The nuance missed in all of this, the thing that both Greg and Alex deliberately don't bring up in public even though it's obvious, what makes any of this happen, is that Greg actually cares deeply for Alex, and sometimes he just likes being nice to him. Sometimes it feels great not to yell, to just make Alex hold still and be coddled. It takes Greg absolutely no effort to be frightening, and sometimes he likes it when Alex isn't afraid.

"Sir," Alex moans, and Greg can feel how he's tensing up; it's not in the bad way this time, not at all, instead leading towards something very good.

Greg drops his hand to Alex's cock, stroking him quickly. "That's right, boy," he says. "Let me see you come."

Alex pants raggedly, almost there but not quite. Greg's eye is drawn to an appealing spot on Alex's shoulder, a pattern of freckles that is missing the impression of Greg's teeth; he bends the right way to sink his teeth into it, sucking hard. Alex cries out, and Greg can feel him coming, tight and hot around him, Alex trying to press into him with his whole body. Greg bites down harder, and all it takes is a few more thrusts before he's spilling into Alex, holding him as close as he can.

After it's over, Greg rolls onto his back; he should clean up but really just cannot be arsed. Alex stays more or less where he is, on his stomach against Greg's side. He pillows his chin on his hands, and Greg is struck by how much affection he feels for Alex. Alex is just lying there, unselfconscious, like he's not afraid of anything that might happen next. Greg doesn't think it's all down to the fact that Alex is almost certainly still tipsy; he likes to think he had at least a little to do with it.

Still, there's something that's been kind of picking at him, poking at the corner of his mind. He understands that Alex is angry about the whole porn thing, but surely he didn't fail to get why it happened. The show is bait for that kind of thing, as evidenced by the fact that they didn't just make porn out of it, but explicitly kinky porn.

"Do you, ah-" Greg starts.

"Yeah?" Alex says.

"Do you really not know that Taskmaster is extremely kinky?" Greg says.

Alex looks at him like he's a bit dim. "Greg, everything in the world is kinky."

Greg raises an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"Me in a dog bed? Kinky," Alex says matter-of-factly. "Someone tied up? Kinky. A picture of a shoe? Kinky. Back end of a car? Kinky. Boiler suits? Kinky. We cannot do anything that someone won't get off on. What we do is at the intersection of kink and comedy. Some people will only see one, and some people will see both. The amount of kink in it is infinite, so we lean into the funniest parts of that."

"Huh," Greg says. Sometimes it surprises him that Alex can be so articulate; not that he doesn't know Alex puts thought into things, but it doesn't usually come out in such clear, explicit terms, especially when he's still speaking in that overly articulate way he gets when he's been drinking. "I guess that's what happens when you put two kinky fucks in a show."

"Oh, way more than two," Alex says dismissively.

"Who else?" Greg says.

"Rhod," they say in unison.

"Katy," Alex adds.

Greg frowns. "You reckon?"

"Mm," Alex says. "Absolute sadist. You can tell the ones who are just having fun being mean from the ones who are getting off on it."

"Josh," Greg says, putting an arm behind his head. "First rate brat who wants to be taken in hand, even without the whole tattoo thing."

"Richard," Alex says.

"Which one?" Greg says.

"I mean, both, but for completely different reasons," Alex says. There's a pause. "The porn we would have made would have been worlds better."

It startles a laugh out of Greg, but it mostly just feels good that Alex is joking about it. "There is no doubt in my mind," Greg says. "But I'm fine if we skip it."

"I'd only do it if Rachel wanted us to," Alex says.

Greg blinks. "Well, that opens a whole new universe of possibilities."

Alex pauses. "Don't tell her I said that."

"We'll see," Greg says. He rolls onto his side and strokes a soothing hand down Alex's back, gentling him. "But not tonight."

"I'm perfectly fine with that," Alex says, and Greg doesn't take his hand away.


End file.
